


Secrets of the Earth

by Watergirl1968



Series: Treasure From The King [3]
Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Explicit Sexual Content, Jearmin - Freeform, M/M, canon aged-up, jearmin spring prompt, minor spoilers for manga, not strictly canon compliant
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-18
Updated: 2016-05-18
Packaged: 2018-06-08 12:37:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,099
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6854890
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Watergirl1968/pseuds/Watergirl1968
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jean brings Armin things; small curiosities that point to a vast and wonderful world beyond the Walls. Armin has no idea where Jean goes to get such things; only that he's always left behind.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Sky

**Author's Note:**

> This story is third in a series. It follows 'Mother of Pearl' and 'Forget-Me-Not', but can also be read on it's own. Jearmin. Canonverse, aged-up.

He kept his treasures on a shelf he'd fashioned, high in the rafters above his bunk. It seemed like a juvenile thing for a twenty-year-old man to do. Normally, a soldier would stash away trinkets and tokens in the chipped, grey footlocker which squatted beneath his bunk.

Armin had a shell...a sea shell the size of a toddler's head. A _conch_. Jean had given it to him, when they were both fifteen years of age. One morning, Jean had taken the conch out into the muster yard, put it to his lips and sounded a long, throaty blast; loud enough to unsettle the horses, and most certainly, to unsettle Armin Arlert. It had been a declaration of sorts.

Beside the _conch_ sat a small, brass figurine. It appeared to be the likeness of a horse, except that it had an impossibly long neck, and short, bulb-ended horns. It had to be, Armin reasoned, a work of fantasy. This, Jean had given him as well.

_"Where'd you get it?"_

_"I can't say."_

_Armin had bitten his lip. "Was it...when you were away with Levi?"_

_"Do you like it?"_

_"I...yes. Yes."_

_Jean had closed Armin's fingers around the little figurine and said no more about it._

Two years ago, Levi had divided his squad into fighting tandems. They attacked titans in pairs now, following the example of Commander Smith and Captain Ackerman, and such formations were brutally effective.

The winter of his nineteenth year, Armin had suffered a head injury, and lost his memory temporarily. It had been a frightening episode, but also a highly-coloured one in which Armin had found himself peering into his own life, as a stranger. He'd read, with new eyes, his own memoirs and tactical briefs. He'd perused his own sketchbook - discovering that he was a competent artist - and found his private and personal letters. He'd written a letter to Jean Kirschstein; a very personal letter, which he'd re-read alone in his bunk, clasping it to his chest and then burning it in the stove at the first available opportunity.

He could no more un-read that letter than he could un-feel the blossoming bond that he shared with his squad partner.

Levi's squad was billeted in a former grain silo on The Survey Corps compound. Their quarters were homey, if sparse. The round silo was partitioned into sections by means of wooden slat walls. These had formerly secured piles of grain; now, they created pie-shaped compartments. One for Connie and Sasha, one for Mikasa and Eren, one for Jean and Armin. Each compartment held a sturdy double bunk, two footlockers, and two chairs.

The centre of the silo was open, and here crouched a pot-bellied stove, a large, communal table and more chairs.These living quarters were on the second floor. The ground floor of the silo contained an armory and the third floor, a stockpile of supplies.

Armin had the top bunk. He liked it, as he was fairly nosy and enjoyed peering over the half-walls to see what his neighbours were up to. In the rafters above his bunk, he kept his books, his treasures and his letters. He had a chessboard, and a strategy game that he'd made.

One winter evening, Jean had climbed up into Armin's bunk for a game of chess. He'd set his tin mug of tea on a rafter and sprawled out full-length onto Armin's wool blanket. Armin had crouched beside him, knees drawn up to his chest and pointed chin resting on his knees, like a little potato bug.

They'd played chess, chatted, and drowsily slipped into sleep. Jean was warm. Armin hadn't slept that close to another person since childhood. Breathing in Jean's familiar scent had soothed him. He'd sighed happily, listening to the pop and snap of the woodstove. Jean had still been there in the morning, peeking over the compartment wall and watching Connie Springer cook breakfast from his high vantage point.

The following night, the west side of Wall Maria had been breached. Armin and Jean had found themselves on the front lines, engaging titans and then trying to extricate themselves and their horses through a narrow gorge at the eastern end of a valley. It was Armin who had found a passage behind a waterfall, but not before a tense and bloody standoff that had cost seven soldiers their lives.

A thin, watery dawn had crested the horizon as the remaining troops had returned to base. The six squad mates had been debriefed and then dismissed. Armin had curled in his bunk, blue eyes staring blankly into the darkness, rehashing events, replaying the outcome. He'd felt the bunk shake a little as Jean had climbed the ladder. There had been no words exchanged; rather, Jean had slowly, reverently, curled himself around his distressed partner, enfolding and warming him.

__________

Armin had shown more than a little courage in confessing his growing feelings for Jean. He might have easily left such sentiments in that letter, to be revealed only upon his death. But Armin had burned the letter he had written, and then whispered it's contents to Jean. When he's finished, he had stood on his toes, kissing Jean awkwardly on the mouth and bumping noses, after which he'd begun to mutter and pull his cape around his shoulders.

For Jean, it had been an affirmation long hoped-for. From that moment forward, Jean Kirschstein had, wholly and unobtrusively, become Armin's protector.

It had not been lost on Jean that the young Marshal, now a grown man but delicately-built, would hunch self-consciously when he pulled on his clothes. Or that he avoided the horseplay and wrestling that often took place outside of the bath house, usually resulting in either Jean, or rival Eren, getting a face full of muddy grass.

Often, Levi's squad attended court at the palace inside of Wall Sina; Armin, buttoned-up in dress blues, blond hair smoothed impeccably into a clasp, boots polished to a high gleam. As agile a mind as Armin possessed, he missed the unspoken social cues; the avid interest of young debutantes, the invasive leers of corpulent barons.

Jean had noted all of these exchanges, icy hazel eyes narrowing over the oblivious pale head, in warning.

It wasn't jealousy. Jean had made no move to press Armin for intimacy. This was a wave turning upon itself; Jean's lifelong inclination toward self-entitlement mutating into a quiet patience; no one would be allowed to disturb Armin's calm sweetness before it's time.

Most nights, Jean shared Armin's bunk, his games and wool blankets, and the bitter brown beverage that Armin had come to prefer over tea... _coffee_ , he called it.

Armin whispered to him, painting pictures in the dark: the mountains, the sea, the stars. He described 'tribes' of humans that he just knew were out there, beyond the Walls. Eventually, he'd lapse into sleep, leaving Jean alone with his thoughts, his fears, and his secret.

__________

At twenty, Jean was tall, long-limbed and solid. He's matured into a seasoned leader. Outwardly, he was just as brash as he'd been at fifteen, however his swagger now masked a shrewd ability to appraise people, and situations. In the evening, he often held court in the canteen, regaling the new cadets with colourful combat stories in which he played the hero. He bragged about his horsemanship. He bragged about his squad. He bragged about the lives he'd saved.

The one thing Jean Kirschstein never bragged about was the deep Underground, and it's shadowy Lord.

__________

Jean still remembered his first foray into the deep Underground, with Levi. He'd been asked to accompany the Captain, to be his eyes and ears. He, Jean Kirschstein. Not Mikasa, with her formidable strength. Not Armin, with his strategic acumen. Not Sasha, with her survival skills. Not even Eren, Captain Levi's protégé.

He also remembered the cold steel of Levi's gaze, made no less sinister by the fact that Levi had had to look up at him.

_"You say nothing. Not to anyone. Not ever. Not to your comrades, nor to the Commander. Not to the sovereign herself. Am I clear?"_

Jean had nodded. He had been just fifteen.

Levi had taken him Underground. _Far_  Underground. Below the ramshackle towns, constructed and subsequently abandoned. Below the dim streets, punctuated by holes to the surface, which filtered dusty light.

Levi had taken him to a place of vaulted caverns, studded with crystals; to ancient tunnels hewn out of bedrock. To underground rivers and pools that steamed, hot and pungent. To a settlement where the flow of coal and oil and precious metals was controlled by an opulent, shadowy people.

In a vaulted room cascading with silks in mustard and orange, Jean had met a man with a mass of black curls and deep-set eyes that glittered like obsidian. His fingers, each as thick as two of Jean's own, winked with rings. A row of gold earrings, ten of them at least, travelled up his left ear.

Levi had sat across from this man, his diminutive frame dwarfed by the figure. A package had exchanged hands. Levi had been served a drink, in a goblet. He'd passed this to Jean, nodding. Jean had taken a sip, finding the concoction to be so foul that he'd nearly choked.

Once the formalities had been concluded, the figure had risen, with surprising grace, and indicated that Jean and Levi should follow. They'd been led down a hall. Recesses had been carved into the walls, and these held all manner of treasures and curiosities.

The man had spoken to Jean then, bidding him to chose something from among the collection. Levi had nodded his head, explaining that it was a show of the host's generosity.

Jean had picked the sea-shell, the _conch_ , knowing he would give it to Armin.

__________

Levi entered the silo quietly. Mikasa Ackerman stirred immediately, a blade gleaming in the darkness. Levi made a soft sound, like a barn owl. Mikasa nodded, melting into the darkness.

Levi huffed. It was one thing to rouse Jean quietly from his bunk, quite another to untangle the big Sergeant from Armin Arlert.

Jean had heard the owl-sound. He disengaged from Armin, slid down the ladder and dressed soundlessly.

__________

Levi was even more tight-lipped than usual as they descended. After five years, Jean thought he knew the way. He didn't. The caverns were vast, and, truth be told, the Lord beneath the city was nomadic; Jean and Levi had rarely been granted audience in the same location twice.

Jean wondered what Levi had to trade. He'd come to learn that Levi had been a trafficker in rare spices and medicines. Precious commodities to those that dwelled below the surface.

He'd never seen, with his own eyes, what the dark-eyed man gave to Captain Levi in return, but he knew it was currency. A few days after each visit, there would be food at the Compound, food at the Queen's Orphanage, stock in the armoury, medical supplies.

Jean flew through the caverns, behind Levi. He descended, landing with a thump, and they proceeded down a corridor. First singly, then in groups, armed men and women emerged from the shadows to examine the visitors and wave them ahead.

__________

He sat, cross-legged, on a raised dais, a low table before him.

Levi approached the great man. The man held up one of his enormous hands. Levi stopped.

The man motioned Jean Kirschstein forward. Levi's senses fired. He was alert, but allowed it.

Jean's eyes widened, but he made no sound.

He knelt opposite the man whose face he often saw in his dreams. He'd learned, in part, the strange, clicking-language of the traders.

He waited, knowing that protocol dictated that his host speak first.

The man lifted a long-necked jug, pouring three small goblets. Jean accepted the beverage, steeled himself and drank the cloying concoction in one swallow.

Finally, the man spoke.

It was the trader's greeting, to one from the surface: "How is the sky?"

It was an exchange that Jean has heard between this man and Captain Levi on many occasions.

He replied: "She weeps."

He looked nervously at Levi. Levi nodded. "H-how...how is the earth?"

The man smiled, a slash of white teeth in the dark. "She sleeps."

"Huh," Jeans expelled a breath. His nerves were getting the better of him. He knew the man before him was powerful. He exuded a deep energy, which unsettled Jean.

" _Eyyo, etan de,_ " Levi took a step forward.

 _"Houn-ka!"_ The man held up a hand. He turned to Jean.

"My name," he entoned, "is Tarek Shimbala."

Jean nodded, eyes wide. He'd never known the great man's name.

"Jean. Jean Kirschstein, Recon Sergeant, 17th Division, Survey Corps."

"I don't think you like my wine."

Jean's face flamed. He craned his head to look at Levi, but the Captain's delicate face was a perfect alabaster mask.

He faced forward, calculating that Tarek Shimbala did not take kindly to liars.

"It's horrible."

A rumble which might have been laughter.

"It is strong medicine. But medicine, it is."

Jean squirmed.

"We," his host gestured around the opulent chamber, "are traders of a different sort."

Jean wondered if he was supposed to say something.

The thick fingers reached forward, pushing a plate of dried dates toward Jean. Jean inclined his head, stuffing two dates into his mouth, knowing that a refusal would constitute an insult.

Finally, Tarek Shimbala spoke: "I want to trade with you."

Jean chewed. He could do little else; his cheeks were stuffed full.

"I seek a book. A rare, very old book. It speaks of faraway lands...fields of ice, flats of salt. The sea."

Jean stopped chewing, his blood seeming to freeze in his belly.

"Giant forests, cliffs of clay...."

Jean swallowed. He waited. His dark host steepled his fingers.

Jean's eyes narrowed. There was only one book that he knew of which matched that description. And it was Armin's cherished possession.

What should he say? And why wasn't Levi interceding?

"Such a book," he replied carefully, "might not be mine to trade."

Tarek Shimbala placed a cloth-wrapped bundle onto the table. He opened it carefully. Inside was a stone tile, carved in low relief. It featured a curved boat, it's prow arching into the head of a beast. The boat contained figures, each manning a crude oar.

"We came," Tarek said quietly, "from a salt sea. We are a free people, walking and living among the Wall folk. I have more to share. I would share it with the man who owns my book."

" _Your_ book?"

A laugh, low and amused.

"Why yes, Recon Sergeant Jean Kirschstein. I wrote it."


	2. Tears

In the darkness of the silo, Armin watched Jean and Levi leave as silently as Levi had arrived. Jean would be back. Perhaps by morning, or in a day's time.

Once, a few months prior, Jean had disappeared for a week. He had eventually returned, bruised and battered. Armin had found him that evening, lying hunched in his bunk, a nasty purple bruise on his back, his lip split and his arm bound.

Armin had crawled in beside Jean, nestling close, parting his lips, placing his face against Jean's skin and inhaling through nose and mouth. A dark, earthy scent. An astringent, medicinal smell. And a sweet hint of jasmine that had made Armin's stomach lurch.

On what assignment, anywhere in the four walls, might a soldier return smelling of jasmine?

His heart had clenched, in cold self-preservation. He'd left Jean sleeping in fitful pain and crawled into his own bed, mind awhirl.

That night, a hairline crack had appeared in the perfect, pure trust that had existed between Armin and Jean.

The issue was a complex one, and Armin wasn't adept at self-analysis. Had he ever, in his five years of service, felt a surge of pride at being selected for a solo assignment? No. Truth be told, his immediate reaction had always been one of either mild or full-blown panic that he might fail. And yet, he had risen through the ranks to Marshal third class, and was one of Commander Smith's closest advisors.

Did he resent the fact that Jean had been selected for covert work, and he had not? Well, something pricked him a little, but it wasn't jealousy. No. It was...well, a vague sense of being under-utilized. Jean often boasted-admittedly, to annoy Eren-that he and Armin were Captain Levi's best team. Why create a combat tandem, only to leave one partner behind?

Armin's logic deserted him then, in the face of his ingrained fear. There could be only one reason for his exclusion: he was a liability. Levi found him lacking - in strength, speed or skill. And perhaps Jean did as well.

Armin rolled onto his back and stared at the rafters. Jean found him lacking.

Ever since Armin had mustered the courage to declare himself to Jean, Jean had been...what? Solicitous? Careful? Polite? Jean had seemed suffused with pleasure last Yulemas, when Amin had confessed that his feelings for Jean ran deep. They'd spent a sparkling, chilly winter's night together, wandering from fire to fire, sharing cheer, sneaking cidery kisses beneath the stripped branches of a willow tree. And yet, since then, Jean had behaved in a near-chaste fashion.

What did he want in a bedmate? An athletic, boisterous partner, like Eren? He showed Eren no physical quarter whatsoever, dragging him along the ground, locking him up with painful holds, teasing and thumping him at every opportunity. The two of them laughed, swore and sat in front of the stove many nights, in silent communion.

Armin curled miserably in his bed. He only knew of one way to connect, and that was fully and deeply. There was a time when Eren and Mikasa had been his only friends - his family - and he loved each of them more than life. He'd offered himself, without reservation, to humanity, and to Erwin Smith. To do any less would have been, in his view, wasteful and cowardly.

His connection to Jean - a hybrid of soldier, companion and bedmate - should have been the realization of all that had come before.

Instead, he lay in the dark alone, his treasures doing precious little to comfort him.

__________

It annoyed Erwin Smith a little that the sound of Levi landing on the guard tower, as lightly as a cat, should startle him.

Squatting on the ledge, Levi raised one fine eyebrow.

"You're going deaf."

Levi slid off the ledge, knees cracking audibly, and winced as he stepped inside of the tower.

"You move well in harness, for an old man of nearly forty," Erwin observed.

Levi chuckled. He reached into his cape, producing a small silver flask. He took a long swallow, then offered it to Erwin.

"My joints have all been ground to mush," Levi confided, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "I'm held together with booze and serum and hate."

Erwin smiled.

Below them, the shadows in the muster yard were growing long, striping the mud. Marshal Arlert, a small, pale-headed shape, was stalking across the yard, a bridle in each hand. Recon Sergeant Kirschstein was following, at a distance.

Arlert looked back over his shoulder once. He held up a hand, hurrying on. Jean stopped.

"Huh," Levi leaned on the tower rail. "What's going on down there?"

"They're fighting."

"No. That's not possible. Jean and Armin don't fight. They debate things and call one another names, but they don't fight."

"They've been at it all afternoon."

Levi crossed his arms, scowling at Erwin.

Erwin ducked into the guard tower's pillbox, emerging with a canister of hot tea. He took Levi's flask, pouring it's contents liberally into the canister. He handed it to Levi, who swallowed with a hiss of pleasure.

"The two of them were with me this afternoon," Erwin began. "I was hoping we could devise a strategy to get a mounted platoon through the narrow end of Materschöen, in the shortest possible time."

"So?"

Erwin exhaled. "So. Jean proposed that we build an elevated lift directly into the rock face, and lift troops from bottom-to-top. Armin allowed that this was a reasonable approach, given that it's within the wheelhouse of our engineers..."

Erwin took a long swallow of tea. Levi stretched, cracking his back, sighing with relief. His keen eyes were trained on the figures below.

"Armin, on the other hand, wanted to detonate the tunnels beneath the pass, cause a rockslide and build an earthworks road over the lot. We could pass through four abreast."

"Smart."

Erwin turned to regard his Captain, who had come to bed himself smelling of earth and spice and camphor on more than one occasion.

"Smart, yes. But Jean objected strenuously."

"Oh?"

"Jean objected, " Erwin emphasized with precision, "because he knows that Tarek Shimbala's water access runs directly beneath that pass, and to blow it up would foul the water system."

Levi's eyes widened, nearly imperceptibly.

"Jean came up with every defence he could muster for his elevator system. He became animated, and then agitated, pounding his fists on the map table. He threw everything at Armin that he could, without betraying you, or betraying those that dwell beneath the Underground.

Armin has never been one to back down, as you well know. He argued in favour of the detonation. I could see it in his face - the longer his reasoning fell on deaf ears - on _Jean's_ deaf ears...the more frustrated he became. Jean has always relied on Armin for tactical. Armin finally burst into tears of pure anger."

"Fuck," Levi said softly.

"In the end, I dismissed them both. But Levi," Erwin leaned on the railing. "Armin knows that Jean is keeping things from him. He's used to being at the heart of strategic decisions, and he's being pushed out. He's not getting any clarity from his superiors, and he's sadly inclined to blame himself."

"I know," Levi conceded.

"And now, his partnership with Jean is eroding. And I," Erwin straightened, "need them intact. I don't know what's been on your mind since your return, but I sense that all is not well, and that Jean and Armin are at the heart of the matter."

"They'll be fine," Levi said thinly. "They'll work through it. You and I have always managed."

"You tried to kill me."

"That was different."

__________

Armin's humiliation was complete. He strode angrily across the muster yard, scalding tears drying on his face in the cool evening air.

He'd brought a well-thought-out plan to the table and had been shouted down for over an hour. Jean had refused to see reason, had deflected his questions, and Commander Smith had done nothing to ease the tension nor to moderate the heated exchange. Jean had cursed at him, smashing the flat of his large hand down onto the table.

Armin's face had finally burst, like a milkweed pod, in front of Erwin, Jean, and Erwin's secretary. He'd felt like the only sane person in the room, the rest of the world having gone quite mad.

"Armin!"

He glanced over his shoulder at Jean.

"Armin, stop. Please..."

Armin wheeled, red-eyed, hair tugged free of it's clasp by the wind. His chest rose and fell.

Jean took half a step forward and halted. Armin's eyes held a distant, mournful light that threw him off-balance.

"Why?" the word hung in the dusk. Armin held his hands out, bridles jingling, palms up.

"I mean...yes, I comprehend that there is something in play...some discretionary action, and it's classified. That, I understand. What is unclear to me," -his clear voice faltered- "and please tell me...how have I fallen short? So short...that I'm of _no use_ at all in this... _whatever_ it is? Who determined that? Levi? You?"

He turned his head, fighting for composure, the low sun catching his eyes, pale like winter water.

"Was it because I froze in the field at Shiganshina?"

Jean found his voice. "No...Hell Armin, no! We pulled through that...we..."

He closed the distance between them, close enough to see the tiny pulse as Armin clenched his jaw.

"I failed to protect you once," Jean whispers. "I won't fail again. I won't watch someone...."

Armin's chin flattened out, and he swallowed hard. "Jean, I release you..."

"What?"

"I...I release you...from whatever _obligation_ you think you have...to me. In declaring myself to you, I changed the balance between us, somehow. I won't have you lie with me...out of _pity_..."

Jean reached for him. 

"Stand down, Sergeant." Quiet, and final.

Jean frowned, bewildered.  

"I said, back it up, Sergeant."

Jean took a step backward, stood tall, arms pressed to his sides. As a Marshal third class, Armin outranked him. He clenched his fist, offering a salute.

"And here you will remain, until the claxon."

"Sir," It was a barely audible whisper.

Armin turned, and with a calm dignity, disappeared into the stable.

Jean Kirschstein stood alone in the muster yard, at attention, heart aching in his chest.

 


	3. Earth

A sullen silence hung over the breakfast table; sharp counterpoint to the brilliant sunshine outdoors. Armin sat, hunched over a tin mug of his precious coffee, face pinched and drawn.

Jean sat beside him, as far away as he could manage, having what appeared to be a riveting conversation with Connie Springer.

A bucket in the middle of the table held, not only the customary windfalls apples which the soldiers were given, but six fresh plums.

Mikasa Ackerman lifted one carefully, sniffing it. She sliced into it slowly, twisting, removing the pit. She cut it into slices, offering one to Armin.

A slight shake of his head.

"You love these," she prodded.

He sighed. He'd retched out everything he had in his stomach, and could barely keep the coffee down.

Eren had taken a huge bite of his fruit, wiping his chin on his sleeve. He looked up, cocking his head.

"You sick?"

A small, neat frown appeared, creasing Armin's forehead. The last thing he wanted was coddling from family.

He rose. "I'm going for supplies."

Jean, engrossed in one of Connie's anecdotes, laughed. It was too-loud, coarse and clattered like a tin pie plate hitting the floor.

An awkward silence followed, in which Sasha's nimble fingers plucked Armin's piece of plum off of Mikasa's blade. Waste not, want not.

__________

Jean watched Armin harness the matched cream-coloured team to the supply wagon through the armory window. Clovis and Brigid, the little recruits that manned the stable, fussed around him eagerly, knowing that Armin might bring them back a sweet from town.

The morning was ripening, golden and warm.

_Like you._

Jean and Armin were supposed to be on furlough. They'd planned to ride into town, get a turnip pie and a glass of bitter each, and play tavern games with the local tradesmen. In the afternoon, they'd get scraped ice with berry syrup and fall asleep by the river, Armin's head on Jean's belly. Jean would blink drowsily up at the sky, enjoying the half-erection he'd sport all afternoon and fantasize about all of the ways he'd like to.....

Instead, he turned, sliding slowly down the wall of the empty armory. His bravado deserted him as the reality of the situation finally settled into his gut, a thick stew of panic and sorrow.

The straw-covered floor blurred and swam, hot tears pushing through the ache in his throat.

__________

Hermann's Mercantile, the supply hub of the northwest district, bustled happily at midday as Armin pulled his wagon up to the cement loading bay. The bay doors were open, displaying goods for sale. Behind the counter, a small army of sweets jars stood to attention, their jewel-bright contents enticing.

Armin allowed himself a tired half-smile. Such a sight would have kept him and Eren spying and squeaking for hours on end as small boys.

Life before Eren was a blur of high walls and fists and hiding. Eren, and then Mikasa, had changed things. They were his companions, waiting for him, boosting him over walls, thumping his attackers. Saving him the ripest, nicest plums...

Here, another fond smile as he thought of breakfast... _she hadn't changed all that much._

He saw Jean, in his mind's eye, tilting back his chair, a gleam in his eye.

_"We're Levi's best pair."_

He'd say it to wind Eren up; Eren, who had been through so much, who'd shredded body and soul, fierce and unkillable.

Armin would listen, aware that Jean was teasing Eren, yet also feeling a warmth push at his chest and belly...a new sensation. _Pride._ He knew it was a dangerous emotion for a soldier, and he'd soberly remind himself of his myriad shortcomings, putting the fire out.

Dousing the other heat he felt was another matter entirely. A year or so ago, he'd begun watching Jean undress. He'd never admit it, but he would rush through his own bathing, hurry back into the silo and scamper up to his top bunk. From here, he could watch Jean saunter in, dripping wet and displaying himself like a peacock, stretching and grinning, blessing all with his magnificence.

Jean had a strong back, with a set of four crescent scars on one shoulder, courtesy of a hungry titan. He had - to Armin's mind anyway - a wonderful, muscular ass, cheeks defined and indented. He had chest hair, a flat torso and.....

Armin's face still reddened fiercely....

...a curved, lovely cock.

He thanked all of the gods that no one could read his mind, it's sweet fantasies now broken glass.

__________

From the tavern across the wide, cobbled square, Jean watched Armin. He'd followed him into town. They needed to talk. He had to understand what train of thought had led Armin to push him away. It was, he knew, some strange mix of his covert work with Levi, and the respectful distance he'd kept, since Armin had confessed his feelings.

He watched Armin slowly and steadily bring sacks of flour and dried millet out onto the loading dock and thump them into the wagon. Barrels of salt fish, and pickled eggs.

His conscience pricked him fiercely; it was abhorrent that he should watch his comrade work, while he sat skulking out of a window.

Suddenly, he sat up, eyes sharp and a scowl darkening his face. It wasn't...oh, yes. It was....

__________

Armin sat on the edge of the loading dock, tugging at the faded blue bandanna he wore around his neck. He pulled it off, blotting his sweaty face. Working had dulled the hurt a little.

He watched the comings and goings.

A lady passed close by the wagon. She wore a deep blue travel cloak, the richness of the weave catching Armin's eye. As he watched her, a filmy scarf floated from her shoulders, falling to the cobbles.

Armin leapt off of the loading bay, hurrying to pick the scarf up. It was yellow, and patterned with tiny boats. He stared at it for a long moment, so that when he glanced up he had to raise his voice to get her attention.

"Hello, my lady there!" he called out.

She stopped, and slowly turned.

Armin approached her, the curious scarf proffered.

"You dropped this," he managed a small smile.

She was an older lady, her black curls shot with grey. Her skin was nut brown, and she wore a curious row of tiny gold hoops in her left ear.

She inclined her head. "Why thank you....Marshal, is it?" she noticed the small pin on his lapel.

"Arlert. Armin Arlert, at your service," A small bow.

"Marshal Armin Arlert. You must be a bright soldier to have earned the rank of Marshal at such a tender age."

He looked into her face then. Her right eye twinkled brightly. Her left eye held a cloudy deformity, in the shape of a half moon. Armin must have stared for a fraction of a second.

He held out the scarf. She took it into her hand. Armin found that he couldn't let go; a distance of only a few inches separated her hand from his. It was then that the sweet, soft scent of jasmine filled his nostrils.

"Not to worry," the lady told him calmly, "I see much better with my left eye...."

Armin felt rooted to the spot.

"My name is Ajn." _Ayyn_ , she pronounced it.

Armin swallowed.

"I see...I see that you are at a crossroads, Marshal Armin Arlert. Your vision will clear. The blood circle will close."

He stood, stock still in the street, eyes huge, gripping the scarf.

_Let go now._

He didn't remember releasing his hold, only that she was gone, and the scent of jasmine remained.

_The blood circle will close._

__________

Jean stalked across the street, a few blocks north of Hermann's Mercantile. He finally understood Eren Jaeger a little better, if the mix of galvanizing rage and fear in his belly was any indication.

He was a few paces ahead of her. He ducked into an alley. As she passed, he let out a call; the sound of the nightbird which inhabited the caverns below the surface.

She heard, stopped, and stepped into the alleyway.

Jean's mouth was dry, his arms trembling with the effort of restraint.

"Lady Shimbala," he swallowed.

"Recon Sergeant Kirschstein," she replied. "We've been expecting a visit from you."

Lady Ajn Shimbala wound her scarf carefully around her neck. "You," she said in quiet, precise tones, "have unfinished business with my son. A trading circle has been left empty. This is a serious matter."

 "I..." _Damn it, where was Levi when one needed him?_

"Lord Tarek is a patient man. However you have not made the promised introduction and so..." she inclined her head toward the street, "I have introduced myself to the young Marshal."

In the gloom of the alleyway, Jean's eyes blazed. "That book isn't mine to trade, and you can't take it away from Armin. It's all he has left...of his family."

She reached up and placed a hand onto his shoulder. "I am sorry for your pain," she said.

He felt it then; the warm, healing sensation flooding through him.

"I apologize for my rudeness, Lady Ajn," he whispered. "but the matter must drop."

He shut his eyes.

When he opened them, the alleyway was empty.

He stepped out into the sunshine, blinking owlishly.

He ran back to the tavern and untied his horse from the hitching post. To the north lay the Survey Corps Northwest Unit. To the south, the capital.

He gritted his teeth, then turned his horse to the south, spurring hard.

 


	4. Steam

_"Why?"_

_"Why what?" Levi had looked up at Jean._

_They'd been in a guard tower, alone._

_"Why...don't we talk about....them?"_

_Levi had been silent for a long time._

_"The Shimbalai are not the same as you and I."_

_"Why?"_

_"Because."_

_Levi glanced up to see if Jean would challenge the deflection._

_"Their big man's always been fair with us."_

_"That 'big man'," Levi said slowly, "is the most dangerous man you will ever meet. And the most loyal."_

_Jean digested this. He couldn't imagine a man more dangerous, nor more loyal, than Levi Ackerman._

___________

Jean posted his horse in a small stable that he and Levi often frequented, flicking a coin to the stable master. Then, he skirted into an alleyway, opened a duct and slid down, and out of the light.

He flew, high and silent, through caverns and eerie streetscapes; some abandoned and some not. He found a hole, high in the wall, inaccessible without manoeuvre gear. This led him to a passage, and more crude buildings. Bore-holes to the surface allowed light to filter downward, in dusty columns.

Turn left? No, it was to the right. He stopped, listening. He was lost. Angrily, he pounded his fist against the rock wall.

"Fuck!"

"You," a voice out of the darkness. A shadow solidified, and then two more. Jean's eyes narrowed. Thieves.

"Hello, lovely," one of them greeted him. "What's in your pouch, then?"

"Back off," Jean snorted, although his heart had begun to hammer.

"Just want a few bits," wheedled another of the group. "Maybe you show us where the gate is, and we let you go?"

"What gate?" Jean snapped. He'd been well schooled for just such an encounter.

"You're too tanned and pretty to dwell below ground," the leader of the group ventured. "You've come on business. I know. I've seen ye before."

"Any closer and you'll be clutching a stump for a hand," Jean's blade rasped in the dark as he drew it.

They'd flown at him then, lightning-fast, binding his arms as he thrashed, catching one of them with an elbow. Jean didn't know what type of weapon one of them held; only that when it was pressed to his neck, a lacerating pain shot down his spine. He gritted his teeth.

The object moved beneath his arm, an even sharper pain. This time, he hollered.

"Where's the gate, boy?"

"Fuck off!"

One of them held the weapon to his belly. The pain was lacerating. He shrieked. What was it? Were they stabbing him?

"Where?" the leader hissed, losing patience.

"Fuck you to HELL!" Jean roared.

He screamed until his throat could stand no more.

Then, blackness.

__________

Levi stood in the empty silo. It was nearly evening. Armin had turned up with supplies a short time ago. Levi had expected Jean to be with him, after Sasha had remarked that she'd seen Jean spurring hard toward town shortly after breakfast.

Then, upon returning, Armin had relayed his curious meeting with the old woman. She'd been an oracle of some sort, and had a moon in one eye.

It could only be Lady Ajn.

"Yeah," Armin had confirmed. "She was called Ajn. Why, sir, d'you know her?"

Tarek Shimbala had asked for Armin, and his book. When Levi and Jean hadn't produced him, The Shimbalai had come looking.

"Did you see Jean today, Armin?"

"I...uh..."

"Marshal!" Levi had stepped close, face like thunder.

Armin had sighed. "I did, actually. He was in the tavern. Skulking out the window at me."

Levi had cursed then. Jean would have gone, alone, to stand before Tarek Shimbala.

__________

On the wall in front of Levi was a circle of sorts. It was a ring of bloody handprints, six of them. His squad had never told him what the circle signified, and he hadn't asked them.

There was Mikasa's print; long-fingered and lethal. Eren Jaeger's scarred hand, slapped against the wall with such force that the blood had sprayed sideways. Armin's careful, round-palmed print, the fingers of which were overlapped by Jean's. Connie's and Sasha's, each of them holding a few fingers apart, in some secret sign.

It was a blood circle, an oath.

Levi rubbed his eyes. He'd barely slept since the fateful trip below, when Tarek Shimbala had called Jean into a circle of his own, a trading circle, the sacred transaction ring of the Shimbalai. He'd wanted Armin's book. And likely a good deal more. They had stalled for time.

Jean's covert work with Levi had caused a fissure, and then an all-out rift between Jean and Armin. It was now a circle, broken.

Levi's nimble fingers traced the bloody prints. He sighed. There was only one way for this to end.

__________

"Eren," Levi found the young Corporal in the mess hall, a disassembled gas canister in front of him.

"Sir?"

"I need to speak with you. And I'm going to have to ask you to trust me."

Eren looked up, grinning. He gave Levi the same response as always: "Is this gonna cost me a tooth?"

Levi didn't smile this time. "It may end up costing us all a hell of a lot more."

__________

Armin was awake when they came for him. Levi opened the door, entering the silo, with Eren and Mikasa.

Mikasa roused Connie and Sasha, as Levi climbed the ladder to Armin's bunk.

"Armin," he said quietly, "get dressed. No uniform."

"Sir?"

Eren's face peering up at him from below was serious, and quiet.

"Sir, where is Jean?" Armin asked guardedly, panic rising.

Levi reached across the coverlet, placing a hand on Armin's leg. "Armin, get dressed. Quickly. And...and please bring your grandfather's book."

"My book – why?"

"Arm, please," Eren said from below.

__________

Just before dawn, five figures followed Levi Ackerman into the Underground. They flew, skimming the cavern ceilings, in silent formation.

Levi half expected to hear Isabel's whoops behind him. He'd now come full-circle. Was he any different, at all, than he'd been twenty years ago?

He rubbed the gold ring on his finger, with his thumb. Yes, he was worlds different, but no less resourceful, and no less connected. 

He alighted on a ledge, waiting for them. Then, he held up a hand.

"No harm will come to you, no matter how odd the behaviour of our hosts might seem. You are to be patient. Speak when spoken to. Follow my lead. On the very outside chance that we need to take up arms, I will signal, and we will not hesitate. You must trust me in this."

Wide, serious eyes regarded him, their whites shining in the darkness.

"Good. Let's go."

__________

They began to walk slowly down the corridor. As Levi had warned, figures materialized out of the shadows, flanking them. Strange, dark figures, a rustle of silk, a creak of leather.

The passageway opened up into a high-vaulted cavern. In addition to torches, glowing, blue bowls lit their way.

Armin's eyes were enormous in his head. He clutched his grandfather's book to his chest in one arm, the other hand resting lightly upon the hilt of his blade.

"Charge crystals," he whispered to Mikasa. "The lights. I've read about such things, but never seen them!"

The stone walls were draped with silks in garish hues; scarlet, tangerine, mustard yellow. The cavern ended at a circular reception room. Here, seated on hassocks low to the floor, were several individuals.

Armin gasped. One of them was Lady Ajn, whom he'd met in the street. She smiled at him.

On an elevated dais, a large man sat, cross-legged. His curly hair, crow-black, hung in a dark cascade to his waist. He had a beard caught in a bronze clasp and a prominent nose, jutting like a hatchet blade out of his face. 

The man's eyes swept over Armin, burning. Armin squirmed, unsure if it was impolite to look into the dark eyes. Eren had no such qualms, and was glaring brazenly at their host.

The man raised a hand, touching the handle of a large, silver teapot. Levi took this as a cue and settled himself on the carpet. His squad followed suit, Sasha tugging Connie down, who was busy gawping.

Tea was poured into goblets, and these were passed to the guests. Levi raised his cup, swallowing deeply. Armin took a sip of his. His eyes began to water immediately, and he snorted.

The dark-haired man chuckled, shoulders shaking, and then laughed; a rich sound pulled from the roots of the earth.

"Poor little northman," he laughed.

They choked down the concoction. Small bowls of food were offered; dates, nuts and other delicacies. Levi sampled each bowl first, calming his squad into doing the same.

Refreshments served, their host placed his hands onto his knees, palms-up. Levi rose and stepped into a circle which was carved into the stone of the dais. Here, he knelt.

"How is the sky? rumbled the man.

"She weeps, Lord Shimbala." replied Levi. "How is the earth?"

"She sleeps," was the answer. "Although, she was roused today."

"I have come for my soldier," Levi said quietly. "Tarek, you will give him to me."

Tarek Shimbala motioned, and a fresh pot of tea was brought forth.

"Mint," Tarek commented. "Perhaps this will not choke your little northman."

"Why's he calling you that?" Eren hissed in Armin's ear. "You're from Shiganshina."

Another interminable pause, during which cups were refilled with mint tea. Levi took his full cup, placing it on the ground before him.

"You have something I want," he said.

Tarek Shimbala placed his cup in front of Levi's. "And you have something I want," he countered. "Perhaps now we can trade."

"What've we got?" Connie snorted quietly. "has he got a fondness for turnip and gore?"

Armin got slowly to his feet, shaking visibly. Levi looked backward, frowning at Armin.

Lord Shimbala's dark eyes flicked up. "Ah, Armin Arlert. Come."

Armin stepped forward. When he drew abreast of Levi, the latter tugged him to his knees. The book tumbled out of Armin's arms, landing with a thump and falling open.

A long, curved smile crossed their host's face. "Beyond the mountains," he intoned. "Seas of salt...deserts of ice....I hope you can forgive the horrible drawings. I am capable of much better."

The young face looking up at him was full of awe. "You _know_ this text?" Armin whispered.

"I do," Shimbala lifted his cup to his lips, rings and bracelets jingling. "I wrote it."

Armin began to tremble. He opened his mouth, and closed it again.

"Take it," he pushed his beloved possession toward Lord Shimbala."I've read it. You can have it back. Only you've got my partner, my.... _Jean,_ and I really need to see him."

He felt a presence beside him; Mikasa.

"Take this also," she whispered, dropping her scarf onto the book. "But please, release Jean."

"And this," Eren slowly lowered his brass key onto the pile. "and with it, my strength."

"And my bow," Sasha stepped into the circle.

"I don't have anything," Connie joined her, "but I can cook."

"You trade with one of us," Levi pronounced levelly, "you trade with _all_ of us. We have come for Jean. And we are not leaving without him."

Lord Shimbala tilted his head.

"Please," Armin inched forward, until his forehead touched the silk-clad knee. "I don't know what you want with _me_ , but we need....I need...Jean back."

"Micah!" Lord Shimbala called.

A man stepped forward. He pushed back his hood, revealing a shock of silver hair, chalk-pale skin, and deep, ruby eyes.

The squad stared.

"This is Micah, my fifth son. He watches the north gate."

The pale, ghostly man nodded. "Levi," he intoned, "you surprise me, turning up with your little family."

"Son, what news from the north gate tonight?"

"A man. A loud, impetuous man, bent on finding the Shimbalai and dissuading you, father, from taking what belongs to Marshal Arlert. At knifepoint, if need be."

"And?"

"And, he was set upon by thieves. They had a brown rock snake. They bound him, and gave him a taste of the snake's fangs. They wanted to know where our gate was."

"Rock snake bites are painful," Lord Shimbala nodded. "So?"

"So, he screeched and hollered and cursed for ten minutes, so loud I feared the cavern might collapse. He brayed like an ass, but he never betrayed us. He withstood the attack until he passed out."

"You...you allowed this?" Eren hissed.

"It was no big deal," Jean stepped around Micah the albino, weak, but whole. "Nothing compared to a guy that regrows his own hands, Jaeger."

With a cry, Armin sprang up, running to embrace Jean.

Jean held him fiercely close. "Idiot," he whispered.

"To be clear, do these people hold you?" Eren glanced around.

Jean said something to Lord Shimbala, in a tongue Eren did not understand. The Lord smirked.

"No," Jean shook his head. "I have been helping Levi to trade with the Shimbalai for these past five years. I can't discuss all of it, but suffice to say, it's been a relationship of mutual benefit. 

Shakily, Jean joined his squad. "So, you've brought everyone this time, sir."

"All of us work together, from now on. No more secrets." Levi said quietly. "All of us, or none of us."

__________

"Steaming water?" Armin was amazed. "Steaming water, oozing from the earth?"

"Yup," Jean sat at the edge of the hot spring, easing his legs into the water. "Maria's tits, I never want to hurt that bad again," he said softly.

"How many times did it bite you?"

"Twenty," Jean pouted, "all over my body."

Armin looked at him shyly.

"I have five new books," he whispered gleefully. "and Lord Shimbala has more to tell us."

"Us?" Jean asked. "Are...are we an 'us' again?"

Armin sat carefully beside Jean, the aqua bowls glowing in the darkness, torchlight flickering on the walls.

"Yes. And I'm sorry, Jean."

Armin snickered. "It wasn't instant attraction for us, was it?"

Jean snorted. "You were a serious little egg, glued to Jaeger, and you could barely carry a rucksack."

"And what about you? A bullying mama's boy, chubby from too many Trost pastries."

Jean froze, his eyes widening. "Was...was I _fat?_ "

"Yeah. You were rubbery." Armin splashed a toe full of water playfully at Jean.

"I was not fat."

"I couldn't see your face, either..." Armin began to chuckle, "It was buried in Mikasa's _beeeauuutiful_ hair for weeks!"

He screeched as Jean scooped him up, dumping him into the pool.

"Hah!" the splash broke the solitude of the chamber.

Armin put a hand on the edge of the pool. "You were the first friend...that didn't look at me and see a weak person. Just a person with different strengths. You bring out my best which was why..."–he drifted closer to Jean, placing a hand on his knee–"why I became more and more disheartened at not being selected for covert work, alongside you...I mean, why have a pair if you don't plan to use them at full strength?"

"I get it. I always _did_ get it. Armin...none of these people were born within the walls. They've _come_ here. They want nothing more than to go home. And the corrupt assholes of the surface world would hunt them, jail them, take away what is theirs. They live outside of the law, trusting only a handful of surface-dwellers. They have sheltered me. Lady Ajn has treated my wounds. Micah Shimbala counts me as his only friend outside of his family. I had...no right to break my word to them, nor to Levi. I'm not a shifter like Eren. I don't have Mikasa's skills, nor your brains. But I can serve humanity... _all_ of humanity, in this way."

Armin's eyes were dark and soft. His face tired, but peaceful.

He placed a hand onto Jean's knee. "You and Levi have provided for us - funds, weapons, even food..." 

"And no one will ever know," Jean smirked. "No bragging rights come with this arrangement."

"I know," Armin leaned closer. He placed his cheek against Jean's thigh, turning his head until his lips brushed the inside.

"What are you doing?" Jean placed a hand onto the wet blond head.

"What you wouldn't," Armin murmured, "I am tired of playing chess."

__________

A season ago, Armin had asked Levi about the difference between a regular soldier tandem, and one comprised of two people that had chosen to bond. Levi had scooped his hands into the horse trough, bringing the two handfuls of water together, as one.

It wasn't poetic, he had been quick to add. It was messy and irritating and difficult, but it was also sublime, fierce and freeing.

The chamber Armin and Jean had been given for the night was rounded, containing the steam pool and a large sleeping pallet, piled with blankets and pillows. The air was salted, courtesy of the steam pool, yet also freshened by deep bores to the surface.

"Why are there boat carvings everywhere?" Armin mused. "And why does Lord Shimbala write books?"

He floated, the heavenly hot water leaching the deep aches from his body. He dunked his head and came up, pale hair sleeked to his scalp.

 "Little mouse," Jean said softly. "Come here."

 Armin floated closer, his legs drifting to either side of Jean's torso, his small buttocks sliding along Jean's thighs.

 He gasped, and laughed. "This is....we're...."

 Jean's hands cupped his bottom from behind, pulling Armin against his groin and wringing a small sound of pleasure from him.

 "Feel me?" Jean whispered hoarsely. "No more clothes between us."

 "Uh...huh..." Armin's arms went around Jean's neck, and he lay his head on one broad shoulder. Beneath the water, Jean's erection slid between his cheeks. Jean bobbed softly, the friction making him groan.

Jean spun slowly, pinning Armin against the pool's edge, shifting his hips so that his groin rubbed against Armin's.

 Armin gasped as their erections bumped beneath the water. "Can you..." he panted, "can we..."

 Jean reached into the hot water, his large hand encircling their cocks, pressing them together. He began to stroke slowly.

 "Aah!" Armin thrashed with pleasure, popping out of Jean's hand. Jean laughed. "If you want it...if you _like_ that, you have to keep still."

 Armin locked his legs around Jean's hips, mouth sucking hungrily against Jean's wet shoulder. "Do it again," he urged.

"Keep still," Jean panted. Armin did. He trembled but held still as Jean gripped both of them, stroking lazily. Whenever Armin's belly tensed, he would stop, feeling only the pounding of his heart in his ears.

"Don't...don't _stop_..." Armin grabbed a fistful of Jean's hair, bucking in the water.

Jean was flushed, shaking. "Ordering me about again, Marshal?" he growled, scooping Armin over one shoulder and walking up the stone steps and out of the tub.

Armin pounded on his back, swearing at him, which amused him. Jean dumped Armin onto the bed, pale skin flushed and eyes half-closed. He pushed Armin onto his back, snaring one thigh in his hand and pushing it against Armin's chest.

 "Fuck," Jean moaned, "I bet you're so close..." He bent his head, sliding Armin's cock into his mouth, lips closing around it and tongue rasping the tender underside.

Armin thrashed, his sharp cries rewarding Jean sweetly. "Stay still!" Jean repeated, slapping the silky skin of Armin's ass.

"A-gain!" Armin gasped.

Jean slapped him harder, pulling Armin's cock into his throat and squeezing. Armin's entire body stiffened then, his seed pulsing hot against Jean's throat.

__________

Nobody had told Armin about the sweet, melancholy afterglow. It suffused him, and he reached languidly for Jean, wet and sticky and tasting of his own musk.

"Sweet," Jean whispered. "Are you okay?"

 "Hmmm."

 They clung together, the brazier in the chamber glowing dully. A soft, low tone had begun to fill the room.

 "Is that my ears ringing?" Armin asked drowsily. "Do you hear a hum?"

 Jean lifted his head. His erection still throbbed unmercifully. Armin turned in his arms, sliding a hand down between them.

His face was studious as he fingered Jean's erection; the silky, uneven surface, the tender head, and the small knot of flesh on the underside. He dragged his fingers slowly, enjoying the twitch and bob against his palm.

He watched Jean's face. When he rubbed with his thumb, just there, Jean bit his lip hard, eyes closing. He treated his lover to a few long, experimental strokes, from root to tip.

"Arm," Jean croaked softly, "it's dry...it's..."

Armin kissed him, rising. In front of the brazier was a brass ornament, which Armin had mistaken for bells. It was, in fact, a series of tiny bowls, which, when heated, began to sing. They held a special treat for guests; a soft, sweet oil, which was slick to the touch.

"Oh!" Armin glanced around, face flaming. However there was no one to be found; whomever had filled the bowls had also lit the brazier, placed a tray of food in their room, and crept out as quietly as they had come while he and Jean were bathing.

Armin lifted one of the little bowls off of it's stand, and pattered back to bed.

"This is for guests," he grinned.

"What...oh, fuck. Can I see that?"

"No," Armin straddled Jean's thighs playfully, holding the bowl out of reach. He dipped one finger in, painting a shiny stripe down Jean's cock. "Is it warm?"

Jean arched off of the bed. "Oh, fuck.... _fuck_..."

Armin dipped in another two fingers, streaking Jean's chest, through the sparse brown hair.

He dribbled a little into Jean's navel. "Aah!"

Jean lay back, studying Armin through half-closed eyes. He swiped his fingers against his own navel and began caressing Armin's sweet, rounded backside in slow circles.

"Fuck, you're beautiful," he murmured softly.

Armin lifted himself onto his knees, sliding forward. Jean dipped his other hand into the bowl. He traced a line up the back of Armin's thigh, grazing his balls and finding out how sensitive these were as Armin arched his back, pushing against Jean's hand for more caresses.

Jean's fingers traced up and down the seam of Armin's bottom, tickling the little pucker. Armin's eyes widened at the soft sensation which radiated. He placed the bowl onto the edge of the bed.

Jean's tickling turned to gentle penetration; slow and soft. Armin's cock began to thicken again. He whined.

"Come here," Jean tugged him down. Armin lowered his torso, sighing with pleasure as Jean wrapped one arm around his back, hugging him tight.

"I want you close," Jean whispered into his hair, bending his head to kiss Armin's open mouth, "I need you close..."

He held Armin, fingers working gently as the brazier died down and they clung together. Armin's eyes slid shut and he thrust against Jean's belly, still slick and impossibly warm.

He felt a push against his bottom, and then a deep fullness, and Jean was whispering into his ear and stroking his cock.

"I'm inside you...I'm fucking you."

They rocked, locked together, deep underground. Jean shifted a little, and Armin trembled. When Jean moved, his groin seemed to catch fire.

"Like that? You like that?"

"Yeah," Armin whined.

"Me too...just like this...just like...oh, _fuck_..."

Armin felt a soft burst of heat inside of him as Jean came, cries muzzled against Armin's neck.

He held Jean, murmuring softly. At some point, they slipped into sleep, twined together, deep beneath the surface.

__________

A keen, thin rain greeted Levi's squad as they emerged from the Underground. Armin had double-wrapped his precious load of books, written in the same hand as the volume he had treasured all of his life. He was full of questions, but willing to bide his time.

In addition to the books, Tarek Shimbala had given him a small, flat box. In the end, there was nothing in the box, but the interior of it's lid was inscribed:

_Nine days' ride toward Adri,_

_Sixty days ride south._

_Beyond the flatland where the river splits_

_And so on to the sea._

"What is missing," Tarek had informed him, " is a crystal compass. It is circular, on a chain, and invested with a diviners' stone that points to the sea at all times. It was stolen from me many years ago. Perhaps, in your travels, you will find it."

Armin tucked the box into his pocket, shifting in the saddle. He was sore from his lover's attention and pulled his hood close, smiling to himself.

Micah Shimbala had accompanied them to the stable.

"Go safely," the tall albino reached an arm up to Jean, which Jean clasped in return.

"I allowed you to suffer," Micah bowed his head, "I ask your forgiveness."

"Prick," Jean laughed, "you probably watched the whole damn thing."

"I did," Micah admitted. "I saw that you will never betray my people. I don't have friends on the surface, Jean Kirschstein, except maybe one."

Jean wheeled his horse, "I like you, Micah Shimbala," he declared, "you're a bigger asshole than I am."

__________

The little party skirted the wall, heading north toward the Survey Corps Compound.

He watched them, from a treed hilltop, just outside of Wall Maria. After all of these years, he knew them by smell...Levi Ackerman and his squad of deviant misfits. Something in the air was different now...they had the earthy spice of Tarek Shimbala's clan clinging to them.

The Beast Titan's eyes narrowed. "Hmm, he murmured. "Interesting. Little Marshal Arlert has an empty box from the king of the Shimbalai. What are you missing, sweet boy?"

He opened one enormous paw, the glint of a tiny stone and metal compass winking in his palm.

"Looking for this, Armin Arlert?" 

 


End file.
